It has been a very weird year, both ‘out there’ within the wider world – which, of course, paradoxically seems set on being a smaller, narrower, meaner world obsessively devoted to self-harm in a foolish attempt to numb its pain – and, reflected in my reading world

I have read (though in some cases, abandoned in disgust) 113 books. Now some of them are still to be reviewed on here : I am regrettably behind on my reviews. But I haven’t posted anywhere near treble figures on reviews. My ‘won’t make the blog unless it is at least a CLEAR (not rounded up) 4 star’ tells its own story. And a goodly number of the books read have not been reviewed anywhere. Books so drearily derivative or, just so abysmal, that I abandoned time spent with them as soon as indecently possible. And that included any time spent explaining their dreariness. Better to head off quickly to time spent with a wonderful book.

I note that a goodly proportion of my ‘best ofs’ were not just reads, but re-reads: books so good half a life-time ago, that it was a treat to dust them off and say hello again. And also, books by authors never read at their time of writing: older writers, discovered.

I think what has, in some ways, sadly, impressed me about those mainly dead and gone older writers is their discipline and craft with language, character, setting, style and narrative. Writers with things to say, and the ability to say what they said memorably and with authenticity. We have a fast-book culture, and sometimes I think, that like fast-food, we have surrendered ourselves to ersatz, sitting heavy in the gut, and with little memorability or feeding much at all.

Now I HAVE read some most enjoyable new books this year, and a small number have crept into my ‘best of’ but, in the main those older reads were more powerful at keeping me thinking and admiring, weeks after closing their final pages.

But I’m still quite shocked to discover (getting into the stats thing) that despite reading 41 books published this year, only 1 of the 2016 novels got into my top fiction reads. Though I race to also say I read some very very good new fictions indeed. It’s just those earlier writers took centre stage

I also had to leave it at top 9 and top 8, as they were clear, and having spent several days agonising over which titles should get the final places, particularly the fictions, as some 5 or 6 were together at the finishing line, I thought I’d podium place the smaller number. If I had to rank, I’d still be here by midsummer 2017, constantly rejigging!

So In no ranking order, just in the order they were read :

Non-Fiction – I had a great NF year, including, inevitably some NF standout re-reads (Oh, Virginia! Oh, George! You delighted me a lifetime ago and you delight me more, and still)

Bee Wilson is an utterly engaging writer on matters historical and foodie – together. I love the history of the domestic, but with First Bite, she soared to new heights, as she wove other passions of mine together – the psychology of food, the relationship we have with food, the politics of the food industry, childhood and the development of taste

Olivia Laing’s The Lonely City as ever, with her reflective, soulful writing about the arts and her relationship with them, delighted me. This book explores mainly American artists, some known to me, some not, and the role of solitariness, alienation and the ability to observe both one-self, and the society one inhabits, in artistic creation. It was also a book which had me blessing the internet as I could search for every artwork she was describing so eloquently

Martin Stevens’ Cheats and Deceits was a fabulous book about the evolutionary ploy of Cheating and Deceiving, and the myriad ways in which it manifests and works. In a year where cheating, deceiving political figures appear to be on the brink of taking us to regrettably dangerous places, it has been quite salutary to think of Trump, Farage et al as particularly obnoxious blister bug larvae, and the populace as a sadly duped Habropoda pallida, taking (to mangle a metaphor beyond recognition) these vipers to the bosom of their children’s nests. Whaaa? Habropoda Pallida is a bee species, and the obnoxious blister bugs hop onto the duped HP, so that they will get carried back to bee nest. Their favourite food is young bee grubs – i.e. they destroy the next generation and its world

On the heels of my snucking in the politics of the present, came a re-read of the wonderful George Orwell’s Homage to Catalonia. Orwell, like many in his generation with a sense of idealism enlisted for the left in the Spanish Civil War. This was part of Kaggsysbookishramblings 1938 Club. I have loved Orwell’s writing since first discovering him in my teens. And I loved what his writing revealed to me of the man. He still seems an unusually honourable figure

Svetlana Alexievich’s harrowing Chernobyl Prayer allows those most directly affected by the blowing of the nuclear reactor, ordinary Belarusians, to tell their own stories and the land’s story. This is compassionate journalism as witnessing.

I needed some non-fictional joy, following a couple of painful recognitions of what our worst can lead to, and I got it in John Powell’s enthusiastic, playful, erudite Why We Love Music. Another read outrageously enhanced by the benefits of the internet, as I could roam around listening to snippets of illustrative sound

The January Man, which I read in the summer as an ARC from Amazon Vine has not yet been reviewed on here, as there seemed little point to whet appetites when its publication day is the 12th January 2017. The link therefore is to my Amazon UK review. Suffice it to say Christopher Somerville’s wondrous book is much more than a book about walking through the landscape of these isles, it’s a journey through time, through relationship, through music, and it made my heart sing even whilst it made me weep. Curiously, it also reminded me, in the compassionate tenderness of Somerville’s writing, of the very first Olivia Laing book I read, To The River. It will be appearing here closer to publication date with some entrancing media

Jeanette Winterson was my big find of the year. How could I have missed her, how? Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? is the autobiographical story which provided much of the material which formed the narrative of Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit. Here is a woman with a childhood start which is unbearable to contemplate, but whose fierce, fierce, glittering intelligence, and whose capacity for joy sing out. She had me laughing so hard through my tears and anger

And my non-fictions end with Virginia. It’s easy to think of Woolf through knowing her end, and the mental illness she suffered. But she was another who burned with intelligence, humour, joy. A Room of One’s Own takes to the barricades of feminism; singing, wit, creativity and incisive argument its weapons. Again, one I devoured in my twenties, and though much has been achieved since its writing unfortunately it still has relevance, and is not a purely historical read

So to the fictionals – and, as you will see, Virginia and Jeanette take their places on this podium too

It seems kind of fitting that Virginia Woolf should have been my last top non-fiction, and turn out to be, late in February, the first of my top fictions. I re-read – or probably re-re-re-re read To The Lighthouse, as part of Ali’s Brilliant Woolfalong. What can I say? Any time I re-read this one its going to make a best of list. Is it possible (yes!) that it continues to get better, that I continue to find more, with each read. Looks like it,

Alain Fournier’s Le Grand Meaulnes, first read, most potently, in my adolescence, was another re-read. I approached it slightly nervously, as with any book which had glowed out, and been remembered, for decades. Could it speak to a much older reader, or would its delights be limited to youth. Well, good heavens, there was again so much to discover and to re-discover. A shifting focus, a little more ability to stand outside so that, on this read, Fournier’s extraordinary craft and magic delighted my more critical, intellectual appreciation.

Meaulnes led me to another favourite, more modern author – John Fowles, whose The Magus owed a deep (and expressed) debt to Fournier. The French Lieutenant’s Woman plays majestically with the novel’s structure. He was using ‘meta-fiction’ devices quite early. Everyone does it now, but it was a wonderfully playful, sly thing, when I encountered it first (yes, another re-read)

Finally we get to a fiction published this year, Eowyn Ivey’s To The Bright Edge of The World. In part, her inclusion is because her first, The Snow Child, was such an extraordinary first novel that she had set herself a dangerous peak to attain with her second. So I was delighted to find that this book was both very different from her first, but had elements of the strengths of her first – the potency of myth and magic, and, oh yes, the wonderful, cold, mysterious setting of the frozen North

H.E.Bates was an author I thought I had read but in fact, never had. Love for Lydia (which had been a TV adaptation which I never saw) was a sheer delight. Luscious writing, restrained writing, in this story of the interwar years.

Christopher Isherwood’s Mr Norris Changes Trains was another re-read. Once again, I think in part it is the lurch to the right which has made many of us think uneasily of those major conflagrations of the twentieth (and of course we are moving through the hundredth anniversary of the 1914-1918 War To End All Wars) Isherwood’s part autobiographical part-fictional narrative of his time in Berlin as the world of the 30s was doing its own inchings to the dark places, as dangerous demagogues were making their appeals to hatred, fear and castigation of ‘the other’

Oh, Virginia again! Her magnificent cross-gendering historical fiction Orlando was my very first Woolf, in my teens. And this romp from Elizabethan England to the twenties crossing geography and gender, mixing historical personages with invented ones stays so pleasurable – another book where I wasn’t only re-reading, but re-re-reading

I discovered Jeanette Winterson’s 1997 novel through some chance or other, this year. Gut Symmetries was my first Winterson, in late August. I am currently reading my fourth, so, perhaps, expect more Winterson’s to imperiously demand inclusions in best ofs, for 2017. A marriage of the story of an affair and the Grand Unified Theory of particle physics. Rarely does a writer make me think about maths and physics so delightfully, and force a mental work-out without making me whimper

And there, sadly I have to leave it. There were just too many books fighting really really hard for the final two places. I could briefly decide to place one or two, but the others started screaming ‘Me! Me! deservedly, so I would substitute, but the screaming never died down.

At least all the ones chosen meant that the unchosens stayed respectfully silent and stopped yelling at me that they deserved the podium instead.

Duelling Banjos were menacing enough, with or without the presence of Voight and Reynolds, without the nervousness of duelling books at dawn, fighting for places!

And, of course, I wish you all the very best for you, yours and all your books, in 2017. I hope we might have some chance of living in ‘less interesting times’ as far as ancient Chinese curses go. I wish you all a harmonious year, and excitement, derring do and much ‘interesting’ firmly within the pages of your books!

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32 thoughts on “Best of this funny old year’s reads: Reads of, if not from, 2016”

Delighted to see we have Mr Norris in common, such an evocative and engaging novel. The Lonely City has been languishing on my kindle for months – in fact, I’m rather tempted to wait for the paperback to come out as I much prefer to read a physical book these days.

Wishing you all the best for 2017, Lady F. Plenty of great reads ahead, I hope.

I would always rather read ‘real’ but the problem is I have no further space to store real I might need to re-read. I keep hoping some kind person would do something like give me the flat next door, which they have carefully decorated with nothing but floor to ceiling bookshelves, a chaise longue, a comfortable armchair a few attractive potted plants, and have also kindly constructed an interior door between my flat and theirs. I can then move all my books next door as my walk in library freeing up mountains of space for further acquisitions. Perhaps an additional comfortable chair or two so selected friends could come and sit and quietly read. Though that then begins to lead to kettles, biscuits, coffee tables, sinks for the washing up of cups, and the book space goes down. Decisions, decisions!

Oh my gosh, a million yeses to To the Lighthouse and Orlando! Also, The Lonely City and Chernobyl Prayer—beautiful and thoughtful. I’d love to read some Isherwood this year, and Fowles, and Alain-Fournier!

What a wonderful list and we have a Top Read in common, Jeanette Winterson’s memoir made my Top Reads of 2016 as well. Loved Alain Fournier’s Le Grand Meaulnes and will reread it one day in French, I first read it on the 100th anniversary of publication two years ago, in translation. Chernobyl Prayer sounds like an important read, you have a really interesting of nonfiction reads indeed.
Really liked The Bright Edge of the World too, Eowyn Ivey is such a talented writer. All the best for another great reading year in 2017!

Yay! I have ‘First Bite ‘in my TBR stack. Why We Love Music Looks Good. My reading year was an odd one as well – I felt like there were no particular books I was raving about as soon as I read them but on reflection, I read some really interesting and creative stuff.

Wonderful list. Glad to see Virginia Woolf there. I post my list tomorrow. I don’t allow myself re-reads on it and only one book per author. I read very few books published in 2016 yet 2 have made my list. Happy New Year.

I think you are spot-on with the fast read culture – and goodness knows, I do more than my share of reading some of those (in crime fiction, at least). My excuse is not just that I have to review some of them, but also that I read very quickly (and can move on to the next thing rapidly), and I can learn something from them as I write my own crime fiction. And it’s all the more satisfying when I find something which is truly haute cuisine (like Olivia Laing’s Lonely City or Virginia Woolf or quite a few which you mention above).

A lovely variety of reads there, and like you I find myself going back to writers from the past. They just seem more substantial than the modern fluff that comes out. I like to be able to get my teeth into a book (not literally, of course…)

Well, we may not have many (any!) books in common, but I’m fairly sure your fidgety cat is the older version of my ashamed kitten! I do agree about the current lack of much new good stuff, and have noticed that I’ve been turning more and more to classics, even in crime. They’re not all brilliant either, but at least you can pretty much guarantee they’ll be grammatical and concentrate on the story as opposed to innovative uses of swearing. There are still gems out there of course, but somehow they seem to be getting harder to find, and the hyped stuff seems to be worse with each passing year… or perhaps, perish the thought, I’m getting older each year! Nah – it’s not me, it’s the books!

Have a braw Hogmanay, ma wee dearie, and whatever 2017 brings, at least 2016 will be over…

New Year greetings just as the year turns over in NZ. So many good books here in your list and some I still have to get to. I appreciated your introduction to Jeanette Winterson this year, I’ve since read a number of her autobiographical and fiction works with much engagement. Thanks too for all the other doors you’ve opened in my reading and for the enjoyment of reading your reviews. Wishing us all a calmer year ahead and many satisfying reads.

Thank you Madame Bibi. I’m tempted, in honour of you, to have a gifs f the year award – you can see my problem with the TBR pile right there in this post…not just ONE gif around piles of books or choosing books, but the overkill of 3 as I couldn’t choose between them

What a wonderful list. You have me wanting to revisit ‘Le Grand Meaulnes’ and ‘Love for Lydia’ and pick up a couple of others that I have on hand. It’s been lovely reading about those books and others that I may never read but it’s nice to know a little about.

Very interesting thoughts on books older and newer. I only read one or two books published in 2016 and one made it onto my best of pile. That has good production and editing values and doesn’t zip along at the expense of substance.

Also interesting to see what you thought of Le Grand Meaulnes – I think it’s time for me to have a re-read of that. Have you seen the ancient, battered film of it?

No, though I did have a look at a couple of trailers for the 2 versions, when writing my review. I loathed what the later version suggested, but found the trailer of the earlier version had the dislocated strangeness which is in the book, that crossing a threshold quality.

Now funnily enough I am deep in a book published last year, which has so many overt and covert links to the Fournier. Book labyrinth!

The Sacred Combe by Thomas Maloney – first novel. Arrived on my TBR courtesy of a fine review from Jane at Beyond Eden Rock, but unfortunately was part of a job lot of arriving TBRs and slipped down amongst the clamour of others, unnoticed. But surfacing again as one of her reads of 2016 I went rootling around in the TBR and have begun, so far it’s just the kind of strange, slow, reflective series of layers within layers which is a perfect place to be reading from at this moment. Fingers crossed that it continues to wind me deeper and deeper, and, if so, it for sure will appear here